


Picasso

by thatstarlitsky



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Abrupt Crushes, Alternate Universe - Artists, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Body Worship, Falling in love with the Art before the Artist, Hongjoong is a Graffiti Artist, I don't know what to call this kink, M/M, Paintbrushes, Sensations I guess, Seonghwa is a Traditional Painter, Teasing, Tongue Piercings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 13:23:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22883149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatstarlitsky/pseuds/thatstarlitsky
Summary: Hongjoong was a masterpiece – a body of flawless canvas and fluid curves waiting for the touch of a brush to bring him to life.
Relationships: Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa
Comments: 37
Kudos: 272





	Picasso

**Author's Note:**

> This is also just an excuse to get out my feelings of admiration for everything that is Kim Hongjoong by venting through the eyes of Seonghwa. And to tease the heck out of Hongjoong. I hope you guys like it as much as you liked my more feral stuff.  
If anyone knows the specific terminology for this kink/type of play, let me know because I’d like to know. All I know is that I love it. I'll probably write a sequel later. I just wanted to get this fic finished so I could get it out of my WIP list. The ending is open AF because I really didn't want to pour another 3K into it right now.  
I might come back and re-edit this in a few days.

The first time Seonghwa saw him, he was halfway up a wall on a ladder so tall, he got vertigo looking up at him. He frowned as he watched the red-haired man painted over a perfectly good red brick wall with matte black. His forearms were already stained from a handful of drips, and Seonghwa’s fingers itched at how messy it was. At the base of the ladder, a collection of spray cans sat in a paint stained, wooden box.

He’d been commissioned, the art gallery’s director had said when Seonghwa had asked about the obvious soon-to-be act of vandalism, to paint a graffiti-style mural on the lone, featureless wall between the art gallery and the neighbouring sushi restaurant. The wall was an eyesore, and a new display – a public one – would catch the eyes of anyone heading for the benches in the small park behind the gallery, or people who were simply taking a shortcut through the small garden of rocks and shrubbery.

Seonghwa just didn’t know why it had to be graffiti.

He was bitter about it – bitter enough that he impulsively bought a new stack of canvases on his way home and set one of them up before he’d gotten dinner started. He chose violet as his base – blended blue and pink with broad brush strokes. He added orange – a touch of yellow in a semicircle before transitioning down to pale emerald green and deep moss. A rolling hill in sunset shadows. A tree, silhouetted in amber. His brushes began to shrink in size. Paint fell onto canvas and blurred summer leaves with faraway clouds that called forth future rain. In the meadow, wildflowers bloomed in a rainbow of rose, periwinkle and soft pinks. Tiny details worked into small spaces barely noticeable to the eye – details exploding into being the closer Seonghwa leaned to the canvas. Small, textured ripples of paint created natural shadows among the leaves when the light hit from above. 

Seonghwa stepped back and stretched his fingers out. His brushes lay on the tray next to him, smeared with oil and brush cleaner. In front of him, the edge of a valley in the sunset. His stomach growled. It was past ten in the evening. He sighed and bent to clean his brushes, and then his hands. He didn’t settle down to eat until quarter to eleven. He sliced an apple and heated a can of soup. As he waited, he looked to his painting, where it hovered on the easel like a window to another world. Seonghwa chewed an apple slice, and tasted the faint tang of paint. He’d missed a spot on his forearm.

It reminded him of the graffiti artist.

\--

Seonghwa saw him for the second time the next day.

He was perusing the abstract exhibit with a sketchbook in hand and an HB pencil. _Amateur_, Seonghwa thought. The unspoken word tasted bitter on his tongue. And yet, despite the fact that he was using such a dark pencil for sketches, what was already on the paper looked surprisingly clean and elegant. Seonghwa snatched a peek as he walked past and saw the lines of a waterlily, a school of koi fish, and a scribbled outline of a word he couldn’t read at a quick glance.

Seonghwa thought he’d gotten away without being spotted, but just as he turned his head away, the graffiti artist spoke up.

“Hey, can you help me out?” He asked.

Seonghwa paused. His brow twitched, and then he turned around. “Yes...?” He asked, trying to remain composed. But surprisingly, his stomach jolted. 

He had big eyes, Seonghwa noted. They were artist’s eyes. They were eyes that dreamed; eyes that saw pictures on blank slates; eyes that saw past surface value and slid deep into the heart of what made something unique. His denim vest, modified with a ragtag mix of floral appliques and enamel pins, expressed a style that was completely himself. It was so very different from Seonghwa’s clean pressed, two-piece formal attire.

“I was wondering,” the artist said and gestured to the painting hanging on the wall a few feet away. “If you knew the meaning of this piece, or had your own idea for it?”

He looked towards the painting. It was a minimalist, abstract work, one painted by an artist Seonghwa respected enough to have borrowed one of his techniques for an experimental piece a few years prior. Out of all of the other canvases lining the hallways, Seonghwa was impressed he’d chosen this one and not one of the more vividly coloured ones.

The painting was acrylic on canvas, and Seonghwa had been one of the few who had had the pleasure of physically touching it before it was hung on the wall. At first glance, it was featureless and boring – it was white on white; most people walked right past it with a wrinkle of their nose. Yet, there were people like this red-haired artist – people like Seonghwa – who stopped dead in their tracks to really _look_ at what it truly was.

“Well...” Seonghwa said, moving a little closer to stand near him. “I know the artist. So, I know what his intent was when he created it.”

“It is your painting, and you’re just trying to get my opinion?” The artist asked with a grin.

“No, heavens no...” Seonghwa laughed. “My work is in the impressionism section.”

“Ahh,” the artist’s eyes brightened. “I’m going there next...but first, I need to figure this one out.”

“What do you see when you look at it?” Seonghwa asked, looking up at the painting. In the direct noon light, it was difficult to see the textures and subtle shades that had been put into the work, but if Seonghwa turned his head just right, he could see the hidden swirls of pale cream.

“This morning when I came in, I saw a lot of texture,” the graffiti artist said. “It reminded me of seafoam on the ocean...you know; like waves, or mother of pearl. I saw blue, pink and gold. Now, I just see white – like fresh snow. It’s almost...blinding?”

“You should come back at sunset,” Seonghwa said. “You might see something else.”

“I’m wondering that,” the graffiti artist admitted. “Is it strange, to see so much in a white painting?”

“Not at all,” Seonghwa shook his head. “The artist used ten different shades of white. He mixed tiny amounts of yellow, blue and red into the white paint and blended them with his brush as he worked. The texture is – as you said – like waves on a beach. Every stroke goes in the same direction. The subtle colours were meant to be seashells on a shoreline. He wanted it to invoke a feeling of tranquility with pastel while still maintaining minimalism.”

The artist’s lips were parted in awe as he absorbed Seonghwa’s words. They were pink, and they gleamed from where his tongue poked out to wet them.

“_Beautiful_,” he finally said.

Then, he turned a page in his sketchbook and began to draw. His strokes were soft at first – creating pale lines that burned dark when he intended them to be. It was like a sumi-e painting, a wave coming to life before Seonghwa’s eyes, only it was an ordinary, yellow HB pencil probably from a box of thirty from the local office supplies store. The graffiti artist’s style was cartoony, and the bold lines certainly weren’t Seonghwa’s tastes, but the flow drew the eye in the same manner an arrow might. 

He tore his eyes away from the drawing and instead studied the artist. He remembered the red hair from yesterday, and he had five – no, seven? – piercings in his ears that gleamed a simple gold. His applique-covered denim vest laid over a plaid red and white button up that was tucked into a pair of worn blue jeans that hugged his hips but remained loose around his knees and ankles. Down his arms, the remnants of the black pigment from yesterday still stained his forearms. But it was his hands – his small, surprisingly elegant hands that held the pencil with loose fingers – that caught Seonghwa’s attention. They were calloused, and slightly cracked from constant handwashing. There was dried paint under his fingernails, and while Seonghwa would’ve normally cringed at the mess, he found it strangely pretty – like the graffiti artist was carrying bits of his work with him at all times.

The graffiti artist finished off his drawing and tucked his pencil behind his ear. Then, he turned towards Seonghwa and offered a hand.

“Thanks for your help,” he said – his smile was bright; and Seonghwa felt another strange lurch in his chest. “I’m Hongjoong – I was commissioned to do the mural outside.”

“I...heard,” Seonghwa said hesitantly, and reached out to shake his hand. His grip was firm and steady – confident. Yet, the soft curves of his fingers made Seonghwa want to hold on a moment longer. He let go before he could think any further.

Hongjoong tilted his head to the side and tucked his sketchbook under one arm. “Don’t tell me...you’re a traditionalist who doesn’t like the idea of their gallery being painted by a vandal, right?”

“I didn’t say that,” Seonghwa protested, his cheeks burning white hot.

Hongjoong’s grin broadened. There was something wicked in his eyes – something that dared Seonghwa to challenge him. He bit his tongue to resist the temptation.

“Yesterday, I had three different people come up to me and ask what I was doing,” Hongjoong said with a haughty shrug of his shoulders. “They saw the spray paint and just assumed I was there to cause trouble. So, I waved my contract in their face.”

“I saw you, but I asked the director,” Seonghwa stated.

“You’d be one of the few,” Hongjoong said with a tilt of his head. Seonghwa’s eyes darted to the handful of freckles on the skin of his neck. Tiny details, but never unappreciated when his eyes always found the small things; like the subtle streak of deep burgundy in a rose petal. It made him want to get closer – to look a little deeper.

He pulled himself back. “What will you paint?” He asked.

“I want it to reflect the gallery,” Hongjoong said, his eyes back on the seafoam and seashells on snowflakes. “So, I’m looking for pieces that catch my attention. And then I want to take elements from them and put them on the wall outside.”

“Is _all_ of your work this inspired?” Seonghwa questioned.

Hongjoong raised an eyebrow, then lowered it. His lips thinned a little. “Is that your fancy way of asking me if I copy ideas?”

“I’m just asking.”

“On my own, I usually paint industrial,” Hongjoong replied. “With science fiction or steampunk elements. When I do commissions, I usually paint fantasy. I like to shatter walls and show something inside, just out of sight – things that people don’t think about. Things that make people ask questions, and inspire their imagination.

“So, I’m doing that outside,” Hongjoong went on, adjusting his grip on his sketchbook and dug through the pocket of his jeans. “I’m showing what’s inside the gallery – hidden, unless someone _really_ wants to find the truth. My work’s on Instagram. Here’s my card, if you feel like...broadening your own horizons.”

Seonghwa wanted to flick the card back into his face a moment after he’d taken it, but Hongjoong was already walking away. The hand-drawn radioactive symbol on his back was unpleasant, yet the chill he received from the dripping neon yellow and black made him want to keep looking. 

It wasn’t until Hongjoong had vanished from sight and Seonghwa’s eyes were once again filled with the sterile white washed walls of the gallery that he realized there was a key inside of a lock, and Hongjoong had given him a door.

\--

The third day Seonghwa saw him was a rainy one.

He woke slowly to a sunless world and made a cup of coffee strong enough to get him through the morning. He didn’t look behind him at the painting that had exploded out of him in a fit of manic inspiration midway through his dinner the night before. 

It was a city skyline at sundown. The twilit sky was a base Seonghwa was familiar with, but before he knew what was happening, the meadow had turned into the Han river, and the trees had become shining skyscrapers with lit windows. His details were still etched with a fine brush, but his flowers were on nearby walls and hidden in dark alleys just out of sight. From afar, the splotches of colour on grey were people going about their day. Up close, their true nature was obvious. The painting was, Seonghwa knew, not his usual style. In a few days, when the paint had properly dried, he would bury it in cloth in his corner of shame with several unfinished works and pieces he’d screwed up badly enough that he no longer remembered what the original intent was.

In an effort to distract himself, he picked up his phone. As he unlocked it, the screen opened to Hongjoong’s Instagram page. The photo was the work that had ripped him out of his idle, curious scrolling. It was a completed work of a hole in a wall, showing a forest of luminescent mushrooms and fireflies hidden just inside. When he swiped left, it showed what the featureless, grey overpass wall had looked like before Hongjoong’s hands had touched it. In that moment, Seonghwa had understood in ways he never had before. Hongjoong turned flat grey surfaces into explosions of colour and wonder. 

In a fit of passion and frustration, he had tried to push himself back towards his roots – to paint another scene; another precious moment in time...and instead created an image of urban decay, and the colours that Hongjoong used to bring it back to life.

Seonghwa closed the app and pressed his hands to his face. He ran a hand through his hair. He needed to pull himself together. A buyer was coming to look at his works, and he needed to be ready for it. He downed the rest of his coffee and pushed thoughts of Hongjoong and the worlds he created out of his mind.

Yet, when he arrived at his gallery, Hongjoong was there with his sketchbook. He was in a turquoise and black baggy striped sweater with a black beanie on his head. A button reading ‘just keep it up’ was pinned to the brim The sweater was tucked into his jeans, and Seonghwa’s eyes lingered on the curve of his waist far longer than he wanted it to. He shook it off.

Despite how quiet his footsteps were, the cryptlike silence of the gallery made his entrance obvious. Hongjoong looked away from the painting he was viewing and looked towards him. Recognition dawned in his eyes before he turned away once more. Seonghwa looked at the painting he was viewing.

It was his favourite.

Cherry Blossom Spring, as he affectionately called it, was painted from a photo he’d taken on his last trip to Japan. It was of a pond filled with koi fish and lined with a broad row of cherry blossoms. Seonghwa had spent every waking moment he had painting every tiny detail he possibly could. He’d barely left his house, and he barely ate or drank aside from stuffing bread into his mouth and downing cups of cold tea. It was a labour of love. When it was finally finished, he’d slept for fifteen hours and had to wear a wrist brace for three weeks. The truth was, Seonghwa never wanted to sell it. He wanted to keep it for himself and look upon it whenever he felt weary.

“Long night?” Hongjoong asked with a kind of half-smile. 

Seonghwa wondered if he was mocking him. “I was painting,” he said.

“Ah,” Hongjoong’s smile widened, then he turned back towards the cherry blossom painting. “How long do you think a painting like this took?”

“Forty-seven hours over three days,” Seonghwa replied without a moment of hesitation. “Including meal breaks.”

The fact that Hongjoong had no comment said more than anything else. His mouth just hung open with muted numbness as he slowly put two and two together.

“I thought you said you were an impressionist,” Hongjoong stated.

“I am,” Seonghwa replied. “I don’t use perfectly accurate colours – I change the tones to invoke certain feelings. But the details are techniques from realism. Walk closer – go through the barrier. There’s gold metallic paint in the blossoms to make them look brighter.”

Hongjoong set down his sketchbook. He hesitated, just before taking Seonghwa’s advice and carefully undoing the red felt barrier and getting closer. He pulled the neck of his sweater over his mouth and nose to keep his breath from fogging the canvas.

“Get out,” Hongjoong said. “That’s incredible.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

“Is it real gold flakes?”

“It is.”

“_Wow_. How fine of a brush did you use?”

“Kolinsky sable,” Seonghwa replied. “4/0.”

“_Wow_,” Hongjoong said again. He swayed from side to side as he watched the metallic paint glisten in the lighting.

“_HEY_! Get out of there!” 

Hongjoong jumped upright. Seonghwa nearly left his shoes behind.

“It’s my painting,” Seonghwa protested as the gallery director rushed forward with rapid clicks of his heels. He had to take the velvet barrier from Hongjoong’s hands and redo it himself. The graffiti artist’s hands were shaking too much. “I told him to get closer.”

“I don’t care,” The director said furiously. “If other patrons saw one person doing it, they would assume it’s okay for _them_ to do it, with or without supervision.”

“Sorry sir,” Hongjoong bowed at the hips. “I’m really sorry.”

“Please escort him out,” the director gestured to the door, then fumbled with the barrier to make sure it was properly secured. “Your buyers are here. And you,” he turned towards Hongjoong. “I let you have free run of the gallery to let you find your ideas, but I _never_ want to see that kind of behaviour again, are we clear?”

“Yes sir,” Hongjoong bowed again. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“Come on,” Seonghwa said, and Hongjoong followed him. He’d gotten three steps out the door before he froze.

“Ah—my sketchbook—” Hongjoong pressed his hands to his forehead. “It’s on the bench.”

“I’ll get it for you,” Seonghwa promised. “I’m sorry for getting you in trouble.”

“No, it’s fine it...it was worth it.”

Seonghwa felt oddly tickled. The corners of his mouth turned upright.

“Some paintings are best viewed from a distance so you see the whole picture,” Hongjoong said. “But yours...yours comes to life the closer you get. It’s like peering into a hidden world. It’s...amazing.”

Seonghwa’s heart started to beat faster. “I have...more at home...that aren’t behind barriers.”

“Will you let me see them sometime...?” Hongjoong asked with a shy smile and a tilt of his head.

“Yes,” Seonghwa agreed without a second thought.

The director reappeared, holding Hongjoong’s sketchbook. He paused at the sight off them still so close to the gallery. His lips thinned, and he wordlessly held the book out to Hongjoong.

“Thank you,” he said, and bowed one more time as he took the book back. “I’ll leave now—good luck on your showing, Seonghwa!”

“Yeah—thank you,” Seonghwa said numbly. 

He watched until Hongjoong had disappeared through another gallery before turning away to seek out his patrons.

\--

The fourth, fifth and sixth times Seonghwa saw Hongjoong, he was back on his ladder. The fourth time, he was drawing guide lines in white paint with an ordinary hardware store brush. His ragged jeans and plain white t-shirt were paint stained, and his hands were already showing the wear of his growing project. He saw Seonghwa out of the corner of his eye and waved down at him with a bright smile. He was midway through the outline of a tree that took up an entire side of the building. The roots were digging into ghosts of cracks and smothered by an already finely detailed tsunami with swirling water and sprinkles of waves.

On the fifth day, Hongjoong was painting. He wore a mask over his mouth and nose, and his bare arms flexed as he shook the cans. His box of spray paint was strapped to the ladder in front of him, and he held them one at a time, or two at a time, and alternated colours with enough speed that Seonghwa could only focus on the way the violets, blues and oranges melded together. By the end of the day, the base coat of his designs had been completed, and the ombre of a sunset ocean and a distant horizon was catching the eyes of passersby. He didn’t see Seonghwa this time. He was too focused on what was in front of him. But Seonghwa didn’t complain. He was glad Hongjoong didn’t see the way he couldn’t take his eyes off the ripples of arm muscle and the hint at pectorals that appeared when the wind blew just right. 

It was the sixth day that would stick in his memory. Hongjoong was still on his ladder, but he was working in fine detail. His red hair was pulled up in a ponytail to keep it out of his face, and flecks of paint littered his skin from the closeness of his work. Pieces of cardboard were his rulers and stencils, and paper cups were his compasses. Seonghwa was lucky enough to catch him just as he was climbing down the ladder to take a break. He brushed a hand through his hair to pull out the tie. The light hit him, and his skin exploded with colour.

Seonghwa’s heart beat faster. His mouth ran dry.

Hongjoong’s eyes met his, and his pink lips curved into that familiar smile. “Hey! How’s it going?”

Seonghwa didn’t know how to answer. His eyes ran down to the sleeveless red top with a worn out logo and the imprints of hands that had hastily wiped away paint before it could dry into his skin; to his distressed jeans that cried for mercy yet gleamed in thirty unique colours; to his shoes that once must’ve been white, but no longer had a base colour.

“Are you okay?” Hongjoong asked, tilting his head. Seonghwa caught sight of the freckles on his neck once more. He swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat.

“I—yeah,” Seonghwa said, then forced his eyes up to the mural. “It’s...coming along well, isn’t it?”

“You like it?” Hongjoong’s grin returned, and he looked back up at his work in progress. “I’ll have it done by closing—the director’s happy, too. He apologized for—y’know—the other day. I hope you didn’t get into any more trouble?”

“What? No—no, he hasn’t brought it up again,” Seonghwa said. He’d been distracted by the cherry blossom tree that was almost finished – the cherry blossom tree that had a streak of golden yellow worked into every petal. His chest tightened.

“I was going to grab lunch, but I need to wash up first,” Hongjoong said. “Want to come...?”

“I have another showing,” Seonghwa admitted. “So...I’ll see you later?”

Hongjoong nodded. “Yeah—stop by later this afternoon? You can see the finished work.”

“Yeah—yeah, alright.” Seonghwa agreed.

Hongjoong grinned, and then rushed back to collect his paints. Seonghwa watched him lay his ladder on the ground. His eyes lingered on the muscles beneath paint-stained skin. His mouth ran dry once more. He turned away, and rushed inside.

\--

Hongjoong’s mural was a blatant explosion of vivid colour and design. Touches of contrasting shades captured the eye and drew it along the painting the same way the lines on a treasure map would lead you to each, secret location. The highlight was the wave filled with diving koi fish that shattered the bricks, with chunks of grey stone raining down into the shifting tide. The rippling ocean swelled into the distance beyond the broad petals of a cherry blossom, towards a ship with white sails and an island so detailed, Seonghwa couldn’t believe it had come from an aerosol can. A smear of red and orange sunset and night sky rose up high above the sidewalk. An aurora, blended long before the paint could dry, was suspended almost at the rooftop. It spelled the word he’d seen written in Hongjoong’s sketchbook. Now that he was tracing the letters properly, he could read it:

Horizon.

It was graffiti, Seonghwa reminded himself – urban art that was considered vandalism by many. And yet, it was beautiful in its own, unique way.

Around him, fellow artists from the gallery and people who recognized the mural for what it was had gathered to take photos and admire it. They applauded as Hongjoong tagged his work with a quick spray from a small, pocket-sized can. _Neverland_, it said in almost illegible writing. Seonghwa had to stare for nearly three minutes before he could decipher it. A news outlet arrived to interview the gallery director. Hongjoong declined to be on camera and hid his face behind his mask whenever the camera turned his way.

As the crowd began to clear, Hongjoong hauled his paint cans towards his car. The exhaustion in his eyes was palpable. Seonghwa lightly tapped his shoulder to get his attention. A freckle of purple paint lingered on his cheek. His eyes brightened when he realized it was Seonghwa.

“Hey,” he said. “I guess this’ll be the last time I see you, huh? Unless I come back, I mean. Which I might.” His ears turned a shade of red to match his hair. “I want to.”

“Come back to my place,” Seonghwa invited. “I’ll show you my other paintings and make you dinner.”

Hongjoong brightened. “I...yeah. Okay. I’d love that.”

Seonghwa smiled. “I’ll give you the address. I’ll meet you there.”

Hongjoong nodded and handed Seonghwa his phone’s GPS. “I’ll just...stop at home and shower and stuff first.”

“Just come as you are,” Seonghwa insisted. 

“Ah...yeah...okay.” Hongjoong’s ears turned pinker. His eyes darted away. Seonghwa was charmed. Despite that, he was the first to walk away. He wondered if Hongjoong would take him seriously, or if he would end up going home and cleaning the paint off himself. Seonghwa shivered and tried not to think about the myriad of colours the water would turn as he cleaned himself. He especially didn’t think about the curve of Hongjoong’s hips leading down to his—

Seonghwa perished the thought.

His worries were unfounded, as Hongjoong’s car beat him to his apartment complex. He was standing with his box of spray paint when Seonghwa parked next to him. He started slightly when the car pulled up beside him, but smiled before bending down to pick them up.

“I can’t leave these in the car,” Hongjoong explained. “The heat, you know?”

“No problem,” Seonghwa beckoned him towards the security doors. His apartment wasn’t high end; just big enough to hold him and his canvases and still give him room to eat and sleep.

Hongjoong took off his shoes as Seonghwa locked the door. He tucked his box of spray paint into a corner of the entryway and stepped into the apartment. Seonghwa wanted to be embarrassed of the mess, but it was inevitable. He tended to paint more than he could sell on a good day. One day, some of his paintings would go to the gallery, but not before he accumulated a few more in the meantime.

Seonghwa busied himself with the kettle while Hongjoong perused his collection. He remained ever respectful and cautious of the oil canvases. Seonghwa openly stared when he pulled his shirt up to cover his mouth and nose when he leaned close. The line of Hongjoong’s hips as it met the curve of his jeans was an appealing one. He turned away when the kettle whistled.

“Oh my _god_,” Hongjoong breathed.

Seonghwa turned to see what he was looking at, and felt a trickle of ice in his heated blood.

It was the cityscape. He’d forgotten to cover it, and Hongjoong was holding the canvas from the back to avoid touching the paint. His eyes were wide, and his lips were parted as he drank in every detail.

“When did you paint this?” Hongjoong asked, looking over at him.

“That was...a whim,” Seonghwa admitted.

“I love it,” Hongjoong breathed.

Seonghwa set down the mugs and walked closer. Hongjoong pulled up his shirt again and kept it in place with his lips as he held up the canvas. Seonghwa’s hands itched to touch his hips.

The shirt popped back down before he had the chance. Hongjoong grinned back at him. “Inspired?”

“Just a little,” Seonghwa admitted. “I saw your Instagram page.”

“And?”

“The magic forest under the highway is beautiful.”

Hongjoong finally set down the painting. “Thank you. I wondered, you know? If you’d ever...like my art.”

Seonghwa thought back to when he doubted – to when he took one look at Hongjoong and thought he was a hooligan, just like the rest.

“I like it,” Seonghwa finally said.

Hongjoong’s smile brightened. “I like yours too. Will you show me your method sometime? I’m thinking about trying to put some traditional techniques into my future works.”

“I can show you some now while we have tea,” Seonghwa said.

Hongjoong nodded. “Okay.”

“Have a seat; I’ll get my brushes,” he gestured to where the mugs were sitting, and headed for his paint table. His well-seasoned brushes were lined up on the towel they had been left to dry on from the last time he’d used them. He reached under the table for his newer spares – equally as good, and ready to go for when his older ones wore out. He brought the set back to the table where Hongjoong was dipping his teabag. Seonghwa carefully laid the brushes out one by one in order of size.

“I...was kind of taught on sable,” Seonghwa admitted as he sat down. “They’re expensive brushes, but...I can’t get the strokes I want with anything else.”

Hongjoong laughed. “I understand. May I...?” His hand hovered over a medium brush with a round tip. Seonghwa gestured for him to go ahead.

Hongjoong ran the brush over the back of his hand with small, timid strokes. He alternated the pressures and angles to watch how the bristled shifted and turned. It was hard to visualize how the paint would spread with a dry brush, but Seonghwa was already seeing flaws in his technique.

“Here,” he said, and gently took the brush back. “You’re holding it too tight. Painting isn’t like sketching. It’s not solid, it’s fluid and dynamic, and you have to work with the angles rather than force the shape into what you want it to be.”

Hongjoong’s hand was warm in his. He still had flecks of paint on his skin, and the sight of them had Seonghwa’s heart stuttering. He gently pressed the tip of the brush to a green freckle and then slowly painted a circle. The brush curved and flowed, demonstrating how a single drop of paint could be spread along a surface. The paint on Hongjoong’s skin was dry, but the familiar motion had colours bursting before Seonghwa’s eyes.

“It’s really soft...” Hongjoong said, and there was a breathy edge to his voice that caught Seonghwa’s attention. 

“It is,” Seonghwa confirmed, watching his face. Hongjoong’s eyes were on the brush, and the way it hovered just over his skin. Without thinking about it, Seonghwa turned his hand over, and brushed over the lines of his palm. Hongjoong’s fingers curled. Seonghwa ran the brush up his wrist and traced the veins in his forearm.

Hongjoong shivered. He tried to pull his arm away, but Seonghwa held his wrist to keep it close. He took the brush off his skin to watch Hongjoong and noted the blush on his cheeks. The purple freckle caught his eye once more. He raised the brush.

Hongjoong’s eyes fluttered when the sable brushed along his cheek. His lips parted, and his shoulders slowly curved downwards. Seonghwa watched, adjusting the angles of the brushes to suit the curves of Hongjoong’s cheekbones. He brushed just below his eye, up his temple, and across his forehead. He crossed back across his brow to the bridge of Hongjoong’s beautifully straight nose. His eyes closed. Seonghwa didn’t miss the way his shivers were increasing in frequency, or the way Hongjoong’s breath was now visibly heavier.

His brush trailed lower. Hongjoong’s head tilted back as it touched the tip of his nose. The brush fell down to his upper lip, and slid softly to the lower one. They parted, and Seonghwa felt something visceral – something...sinful.

Hongjoong’s mouth fell open as the brush slid between his lips. Seonghwa felt the pressure of his tongue meeting the sable and Hongjoong’s trembling grew more pronounced. His breath became audible. Seonghwa painted his tongue, and Hongjoong made a sound – something between a whimper and a moan. Seonghwa licked his lips and sought more.

He used the brush to push Hongjoong’s jaw open further – just enough to slide it deeper. Something solid bumped the side of the brush, and Hongjoong _really_ moaned. Seonghwa’s mouth ran dry. A tongue piercing. He could see the silver ball glinting in the faint light of the dining room.

That was when Hongjoong finally pulled his head away. He was visibly shaken, flushed, and making an effort to catch his breath.

“I-If you don’t st-stop that...” Hongjoong stammered.

“What?” Seonghwa whispered. “What if I don’t?”

Hongjoong looked over at him. His dark eyes looked even darker. His face was flushed, and a gleam of sweat had started on his brow. He stood up – his chair scraped across the floor. He reached across the table and gripped Seonghwa’s tie. He pulled him to his feet with a sharp yank and leaned over the table towards him. Their lips met, and Seonghwa barely had a second to adjust before Hongjoong was licking into his mouth.

The silver ball on Hongjoong’s tongue made everything feel sloppier, and somehow, far more real. It clicked against his teeth, and pulled when their tongues tangled together. The sensations it was giving Seonghwa were doubled on Hongjoong, and within a few seconds, his hand was curled on the table to keep himself upright. He panted into Seonghwa’s mouth as the hand gripping his tie began to undo it.

“Easy,” Seonghwa said with a gentle laugh, and Hongjoong flushed darker.

“Don’t ‘_easy_’ me,” Hongjoong quipped, but stood upright when Seonghwa removed his hand. 

“My bedroom’s over there,” he pointed to the open door, where his neatly made bed was visible.

Hongjoong’s chest rose and fell. He licked his lips. 

“Okay,” he said, and turned away. Seonghwa watched him disappear into the room before he grabbed a handful of paintbrushes and followed him.

“You can start by taking that off,” Seonghwa said, pointing to his shirt.

Hongjoong stripped as though he was waiting for him to ask. His shirt hit the floor in an untidy pile, but Seonghwa wasn’t worried about that. His eyes were on the expanse of Hongjoong’s chest; pale skin bared down to the curve of his hips; ripples of subtle muscles that were toned without being overwhelming. He was a flawless canvas, waiting for the touch of Seonghwa’s brushes.

He pushed Hongjoong down onto his back and straddled his thighs. He set the paintbrushes aside and undid his tie. He tossed it onto the floor and undid the top three buttons on his dress shirt. Hongjoong’s eyes followed his every move. He licked his lips before reaching over to touch Seonghwa’s thighs. 

“No,” Seonghwa said, then pulled his hands off him. He pinned them to the pillow next to Hongjoong’s head. “Leave them here.”

Hongjoong’s response to being dominated was to tremble. There was a fire in his eyes that suggested he wanted to protest – just to see what Seonghwa would do – but it went out the moment Seonghwa picked up the paintbrush.

The brush was bigger than the one Seonghwa had been using before, but similar in shape. Hongjoong’s eyes followed it until it touched his cheek. He closed his eyes as it brushed over his skin in smooth, constant strokes. Seonghwa made sure he didn’t miss an inch of his face and watched for the places that gathered the most response. He focused his attention onto them. A fluid stroke across apple of his cheek and down the underside of his jaw made Hongjoong’s head fall deeper into the pillows. His fingers twitched as though he wanted to grip Seonghwa’s hands, but he kept them where he’d been told to. Seonghwa trailed his brush lower to brush the planes of his throat. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he circled it with delicate strokes.

The brush was dry, but Seonghwa’s eyes saw colours. Hongjoong’s skin ran pink and red with bright inks as he painted slow swirls of colour – cherry blossoms blowing in the wind, and blue skies like crystalline oceans. He became enamoured with watching how the shadows shifted over Hongjoong’s defined chest with each, heavy breath. He stroked between pectorals and Hongjoong pulled his lips between his teeth. Seonghwa painted a spiral – circling around and around until the tip of the brush caressed a single, pert nipple.

Hongjoong’s back arched as he gasped. Seonghwa had to press a hand into his shoulder to hold him down. The soft bristles of the paintbrush had turned his body sensitive, and Seonghwa took advantage of it to make sure he felt every little stroke. Hongjoong whimpered. His hands had come up off the bed, but his fingers had curled as though he craved to hold something but couldn’t find it. Seonghwa took his hand off his shoulder and laced their fingers. Hongjoong held on. His hands fell back down against the pillow as his eyes slid open.

“Ah...” he gasped. Seonghwa was painting slow spirals away from his nipple, giving him a reprise. It didn’t stop him from shaking. His lips were parted as he tried to catch his breath, but Seonghwa didn’t give him the time to relax.

His paintbrush turned to the other nipple. Hongjoong moaned breathlessly. Seonghwa circled the tip and nudged the bristles of the brush into the top before swirling down once more. He did this slowly, never speeding up, and giving Hongjoong time to anticipate what was to come. It wound him up, and Seonghwa’s heart lurched when he heard Hongjoong’s next word.

“P_-_Please_..._” He gasped.

Seonghwa hummed and trailed his brush lower. Hongjoong whimpered as the sable hair brushed along the waistband of his jeans. It dipped into his navel and back out again. His hips shifted, and Seonghwa caught sight of the small bulge in his jeans. With one hand, he undid the button. Hongjoong’s fingers flexed next to his head as he fought the urge to help. Seonghwa kept his movements steady, and only set down the paintbrush when he needed to pull Hongjoong’s jeans down to the middle of his thighs. His hard length emerged, and Hongjoong made another soft, needy sound.

Instead of touching it, Seonghwa picked up his paintbrush. He brushed it along the insides of Hongjoong’s thighs. He trembled in response and pulled his lip between his teeth. Seonghwa circled a spot with slow, deliberate strokes and watched as Hongjoong squirmed beneath him. He let out another pitiful whine and tried to move himself closer to the brush. Seonghwa pressed his hips down into the bed.

“_Please—!_” Hongjoong gasped. His hands curled into fists. Seonghwa licked his lips. 

“What do you want?” Seonghwa asked, daring him to answer.

Hongjoong groaned. “Are you g-going to make me say it?” His voice was thin and weak – so unlike the confident tones Seonghwa was used to.

“I want to hear you say it,” Seonghwa replied, then stroked the paintbrush along the line of his hipbone. 

Hongjoong shivered. “Touch me, damn it. Stop teasing me.”

“Maybe I love seeing you like this,” Seonghwa said. He smirked down at Hongjoong’s flushed face and made sure his paintbrush tickled the spot on his thigh that made him squirm.

Hongjoong just barely held back a wild cry. “Y-You w-want me to b-beg, don’t you?”

“Only if you want to,” Seonghwa purred.

“Please, please, _please,_” Hongjoong pleaded. He looked down at Seonghwa through his eyelashes. “_Please_. Touch me.”

He couldn’t say no. He brought the tip of the paint brush to the base of his leaking cock. Hongjoong gasped, and his hands swung down to grip Seonghwa’s thighs. His fingernails pressed hard enough to indent his skin through the fabric of his slacks.

Hongjoong was beautifully vocal. He tried to keep them in by biting his lip, but his moans still filled the room. Seonghwa stroked the brush in slow circles up his length towards the head. Hongjoong’s growing sensitivity drove him closer and closer to the edge. Seonghwa closed his eyes and listened to his melodic cries. 

“Seonghwa _please_,” Hongjoong sobbed. Tears were beading at the corners of his eyes. They glistened like small diamonds, and Seonghwa thought they were beautiful.

With two fingers, he gently pulled Hongjoong’s swollen lower lip downwards. His lips parted obediently, and Seonghwa pressed his fingers against his tongue. Lips closed around them and Hongjoong sucked on them to muffle his whimpers. Seonghwa felt the brush of the tongue percing and knew that he knew how to use it. The thought had another wave of lust slipping through him as he thought about that tongue somewhere much less innocent.

As Hongjoong sucked his fingers, Seonghwa focused his attention onto his trembling thighs and the desperate twitch of his cock. It wouldn’t be much longer now. He used the brush to press Hongjoong’s cock against his stomach and let the pressure of the bristles stimulate his length from base to tip. Hongjoong’s moans became more frequent, and the suction on his fingers became far less gentle. Hongjoong made it obvious when he finally hit that edge. He fell silent. His eyes squeezed shut. His lips tightened on Seonghwa’s fingers and he inhaled sharply. Seonghwa circled Hongjoong cock one last time.

Like a river bursting through a dam, Hongjoong’s orgasm was explosive. Seonghwa watched him paint himself white – watched the way his body rippled with his trembles. It was beautiful, and so erotic. Seonghwa slid his fingers from Hongjoong’s mouth and gently stroked his cheek.

Hongjoong peered up at him from beneath damp eyelashes. Though his hands were still shaky, he reached up and wrapped his fingers around the back of Seonghwa’s neck and pulled him downwards. His lips were shiny and parted as he slowly caught his breath. Seonghwa found them irresistible. He leaned down and met Hongjoong in the middle.

Their tongues slid together, and Hongjoong gripped the hair at the back of his head. The kiss was slow and sloppy, and Hongjoong made sure to press his piercing along the underside of Seonghwa’s tongue. The sensation pushed him higher. He groaned softly against Hongjoong’s lips.

“When I catch my breath, I’m going to ruin you,” Hongjoong breathed, then licked his tongue over Seonghwa’s mouth. The piercing caught on his upper lip. Seonghwa’s eyes fluttered.

“What if I don’t let you catch it?” Seonghwa questioned.

Hongjoong grinned and tilted his head to the side. He pulled Seonghwa’s head down further. His breath tickled his ear. 

“Then, I’ll make you beg for it,” He promised.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m not a visual artist, so a lot of the research I did on paint types and whatnot was very informative, especially in choosing what type of paint Seonghwa uses and how other artists make use of other types. I also spent a good hour googling graffiti murals and font types. ‘Horizon’ and Hongjoong’s tag ‘Neverland’ uses the KaliGraff font.  
Kolinsky sable brushes are said to be the best and one brush can run upwards of like $50. And I wrote I wrote one as a sex toy. I’m so sorry for this disrespect. (paintbrushes are so soft)
> 
> To those of you who know I’m up to something whenever I post a poll on my twitter page (@thatstarlitsky), this is why I asked what art style Seonghwa prefers. It was a close race. I decided to blend the two styles rather than choose just one.


End file.
